Mostly Sober
by Harmonizing Dichotomy
Summary: “Too soon, you think?” House put a finger to his stubbled chin. “Maybe I should have tried chocolate first...”
1. Chapter 1

Muscle memory guiding his hands, House looked up at his current 'roommate' over the lid of the piano.

It was so strange, really, that the man stuck around, and yet it was practically expected. Wilson seemed to have a way of seeking out "hurt" individuals and attaching himself to them. Except unlike a leech, he gave; the only things he took (in House's opinion) was several hours' worth of his time with speeches about ridiculous things; things such as not mentioning the great view he had of Cuddy's chest from his position, or how flamboyantly coifed Chase's hair was that day.

Of course, for people like Wilson's wives, that trait also seemed to always backfire. He'd give, nurture, and sweet-talk the other person back to a state deemed fairly normal. And then he'd cheat on them.

Not a good outcome, really.

"Um...House?"

The diagnostician blinked, shifting his gaze from over his friend's left shoulder to his pair of wide eyes. Too wide – he was worried. "Um, Wilson?" he mimicked.

"You stopped playing."

House finally registered that his fingers were no longer moving over the keys. "Well, it's not like I was getting tips based on my performance. I assumed taking breaks was okay."

"Don't tell me the ever-wisecracking Dr. House was contemplating something?"

"Well, you caught me." He lurched to his feet and walked back around the bench.

"Ha." Wilson settled back into the couch. With a flick of his wrist, he downed another swig of (House's) beer. "Oh, to know what goes through that follically-challenged head of yours."

"Hey, leave the wisecracks to the masters, young padawan." House fell back gracelessly onto the sofa, grabbing the beer bottle from the oncologist.

"What _were_ you thinking about?" Wilson made to grab his drink back, but a few swings from House's cane and he'd given up on that idea.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, House responded, "Just contemplating how all of your romantic relationships have been doomed to failure."

Some of his good humor leaving his eyes, Wilson shoved himself off the couch. "As much as I'd love to discuss that with you, I'm gonna go get another _beer_."

The creaking sounds followed by a familiarly irregular rhythm was his tip that House wasn't going to stop just yet. "I mean, think about it. You attach yourself to people like a leech."

"Hard to imagine anyone who does things like that," Wilson grumbled, practically taking out House's cane when he opened the fridge.

House, however, hardly even registered he'd heard the interruption. "You find the weirdest, most pathetic woman you can because you have some need to fix them. Then, once they're all better and not popping Prozacs anymore, they're back to boring."

Wilson sat back down on the couch, gulping down his beer a bit desperately. "Well, thank you for witling down my failed marriages to the core of hopelessness they are."

"Just call me Oprah!" Wilson snorted at the older man's batting eyes, then paused.

"House?" A thought was starting to hit him.

"Yes, _darling_?"

Was it possible to shove that much sarcasm into just two words? "_Why _are you thinking about my love life, anyway?"

"Other than the fact that it's caused you to be sharing my apartment with me?" House was looking at him with a face usually reserved for particularly dense clinic patients. "You're even slower when you're drunk, aren't you?"

"I am _not _drunk, House." Though now that the older man had mentioned it, he might be. Hell if he'd admit it, though.

House snorted before finishing off his own beer.

"So how come we work so well, then?"

Depositing the empty bottle on his coffee table, House said, mock-touched, "You mean you think we've really got a chance?"

Wilson stared down the wide, electric blues eyes in front of him, which was harder than it usually would be. The warmth in his stomach and throat reminded him how much he'd drunk that night – made sense he'd be a little tipsy. "You know what I meant, House. You're the reigning king of neediness – how do you explain us working, then?"

"It's pretty simple, really. Your wives all admitted how much they needed you."

"Yeah, well, they also eventually got...better..." Something about House's expression and words suddenly caught up with his foggy brain, and his eyes narrowed reflexively. "Did you just admit you needed me?"

House's focused gaze shifted uncomfortably, and he twirled his cane through the fingers of his left hand. Wilson just stared. "Are...are _you _drunk?" The other man's eyes snapped back to his face, and an unspoken injury in them had Wilson backpedaling. "I mean...not that I don't think you...I just...you don't usually admit stuff like that." He watched House's face relax, the shadows across it seeming to smooth out.

Reassured by House's alcohol-assisted calm (as well as his own), he smiled back. The shadows on his own face deepened when he did that, as if showing off his almost ridiculously high cheekbones. House let out something between a chuckle and a snort, and Wilson cocked a thick eyebrow. "Do I wanna know?"

Normally, House would have just made up something insulting or offensive to tell him. "I just realized that those sharp little cheekbones of yours are probably the toughest thing about you." Okay, so alcohol didn't really seem to help out that much. Still, Wilson stuck to the only thing he'd been given.

"Don't tell me my boyish charms are distracting you from our conversation?" He grinned good-naturedly at his own barb, though House's oddly serious tone threw him off.

"Who says I wasn't talking about them already?"

Wilson blinked, about to ask House what he meant, when suddenly his mouth was hardly in a position to form a question...nor, to be fair, was his mind.

House was kissing him, hard on the mouth. One hand slipped behind Wilson's neck, probably more to hold him still than just a romantic reaction on House's part. Of all things that Wilson could have chose to say when the older doctor finally broke off from the kiss to breathe, his mouth chose, "That tickled."

House chuckled, a wicked grin on his face, though his eyes were guarded in a way Wilson wasn't used to seeing when he and House were alone.

"House, you...you just..._kissed_ me." Wow, his mouth was on a roll tonight.

Bright cerulean eyes widened. "Oh my god, really?!"

"H-house..." His would-be admonishing tone was somehow lessened by his stammer.

"Too soon, you think?" House put a finger to his stubbled chin. "Maybe I should have tried chocolate first..."

Wilson, though warm with alcohol (and now, something else, for the moment unidentifiable) and shocked, could still read his friend's attempt at playing off the situation as a joke. "No..."

A distinctly worried gaze met his before the diagnostician could flatten out his features again, sealing the deal in Wilson's mind. "Don't...it's, it's fine." Feeling the corners of his mouth inexplicably pulled up, he added, "You're not such a bad kisser anyway." Tentatively, he leaned forward, towards the man he'd known longer than most of his wives. Somewhere among the sensations in him was the sense of his love for the man in front of him, slowly being shoved into a different lighting.

House, his expression flashing through different emotions so fast it almost dizzied Wilson's booze-boggled mind to try to read them all, breathed, "You sure?" _Alright, he's definitely more sober than _me, Wilson thought.

House chortled. "You might be surprised."

_Apparently I said that out loud_. Wilson nodded slowly.

Immediately House's mouth was crushed against his, as if the diagnostician was afraid he'd change his mind. And while that was a threat at first, as soon as House had managed to force his tongue into his mouth, any inhibitions Wilson might have still had were shoved to the side.

The older man's mouth was shockingly warm, though the hands cupping (more like grabbing) the back of Wilson's head were cool. Even with as many people as he'd kissed (having so many wives and affairs just may have been partially responsible for those numbers) Wilson wasn't sure he'd ever kissed someone quite so...needily possessive as House was turning out to be. Still, the tongue currently trying to map out a path to his tonsils didn't strike Wilson as any less compassionate than any of the other kisses he'd had.

In fact, he thought as one of House's hands moved down to grapple at the base of his neck, he could honestly say he'd never been kissed quite like this. His faintly beer-addled brain was still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not, however.

Gasping out loud (partially in surprise), his dissections of the situation were abruptly cut off as House broke away from his lips to lean down and suck on the side of his neck. Disengaging after a few more seconds, House looked Wilson in the eye, rather valiantly ignoring the fact that both were breathing considerably heavier than a few minutes before. "Stop analyzing it. It's not everyone that gets treated to _this_." House gestured vaguely back at himself, winking.

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I apologize for the abrupt ending, honestly. There's going to be a second chapter to this, but I wanted to get what I had written so far posted to see if anyone was interested at all. (Tricky, no?) Comments/critiques are forever welcome, even though I'd probably continue spamming this story without them. ;D

Oh--and the rating will definitely be higher in the later chapters. For now I figure a lower one's more appropriate, seeing as it's only man!kissing at the moment.


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, I've finally got the second chapter up -- sorry for the wait! :)_

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Wilson was only halfway through his chuckle before his breath hitched – House was systematically nipping a line down his neck. There was something to be said about someone who made a hobby of hookers and pornos – House definitely seemed to know what he was doing. However, that line of thought only made Wilson's mind slowly connect what they were doing to porn, which led his thoughts down towards sex... What the hell were they _doing_? "H-house. House, you're drunk; get off."

Eyes, now half-lidded and yet somehow more reflective than previously, roved up in his direction from somewhere along his collarbone. "That was the plan, actually. Glad you approve."

The double entendre probably would have elicited a good-natured rolling of the eyes under better circumstances, but now Wilson's hands moved up somewhat clumsily to push at the diagnostician's shoulders.

"What, shoving the cripple while drunk? What if I fall off the couch now?" House's words, however, had a bit less impact considering the fact that his current death-grip on Wilson's midriff meant he hadn't budged. "For someone who's always out to please, you're awfully fucking against _this_." House's tone was almost childishly petulant. "Don't tell me the man who's better at affairs than his medical practice is about to turn down a lay like _**me**_?"

Wilson didn't need to look down at House to know the man was, once again, gesturing at himself, though by habit he did anyway. Somehow the sight of his selfish and maladjusted best friend fairly straddling him managed to be both disconcerting and something else entirely, which said man noticed with a slight rocking of his hips. The oncologist swallowed back a groan and frowned as much as he could while his mouth was stubbornly trying to hang open in a surprised 'o'. Somehow enough air whooshed into his lungs that he went to repeat that House was drunk, as if that fact would make House more likely to submit to his will than usual.

The other man simply brought their mouths back together, his lips parted already so that Wilson could immediately feel a tongue plying entrance. There was an obvious lust behind the move (made clearer by the slight shifting of House on top of him – Wilson tried to ignore what he knew the lump pressed against his own hipbone was) but coming from House, it simply seemed...needy. The quick, moist puffs of breath against Wilson's cheek were suddenly punctuated with a near-vocal sigh, and the oncologist's unwilling mind was made for him.

He always reacted to _needy_.

Wilson's hands made their somewhat halting way to wrap around House's lower back, his fingers immediately finding the hem of the older man's shirt; almost as much for something to occupy himself as a want to begin undressing the other. For most other people, a needy House would have been the ultimate warning sign, either that their beloved boss (or perhaps employee) had finally cracked or was pulling some unfathomable joke on them – Wilson had known House long enough to recognize this, however. The diagnostician was destructive and possessive whenever things were going well with the newest Mrs. Wilson; he was the very epitome of neediness because Wilson was all he really had.

Somehow, that last thought was enough to break down whatever resistance Wilson may have had left, and he found himself opening his mouth once again for House. He swallowed a noise that was probably the rarity of a relieved sigh without even really registering it, and soon he'd let a hand drift up to start running through House's hair. What there was of it was fairly sticking up straight already, but Wilson patted it down almost subconsciously as his tongue ran up against House's, and he dared to wonder what the taller man was chuckling about.

Even with one leg largely out of the action, House had gotten pretty good with maneuvering, as Wilson was starting to notice that the other was moving – only a moment before House tipped over their precarious balancing act on the middle cushion, spilling Wilson backwards. The air left his lungs with a small noise of surprise and brown eyes stared up at House from their position underneath him. Wilson was now very definitely being straddled, and he couldn't decide if the neediness had left House entirely or if had merely been turned to another purpose; at any rate, the diagnostician's hands were fighting for a hold on his own, and the tongue plundering his mouth was nearly invasive now, not to mention interrupted often with clashes of teeth.

When Wilson tilted his head back to free their mouths of each other so he could speak, House followed, growling something that probably would have been a command if his tongue had been in his own mouth to form the words. The need to help his friend was slowly waning into something a bit more urgent – of course it wasn't panic, he reasoned – and Wilson could feel adrenaline mixing with arousal to speed his heartrate. When a mal-formed attempt at moving on House's part, however, meant one of his knees knocked violently into Wilson's stomach to wind him once again, the oncologist choked something out in protest. Unsurprisingly, House ignored it; surprisingly, his searching hands finally found Wilson's and long fingers were suddenly wrapping about his wrists, tugging them up above both of their heads to rest on the arm of the couch.

This time, Wilson bucked up, jerking his head sideways where House couldn't follow his mouth with his own, and gasped out, "House, what the hell are you doing?" The man on top of him paused for a brief moment, and Wilson was uncomfortably aware of the slight pulse in his fingers – alcohol was heating up his skin as much as his excite was, at this point.

"Figure if you keep asking that, one of these times I'll lie and tell you I'm_** not**_ trying to get into your pants?" The tone was teasing, as usual, but the ragged breathing was foreign. House only breathed like that when his leg was acting up – Wilson had never been around when that same phenomenon was a pleasant one. House's mouth relocated to his neck, lips baring his teeth so that he could trail them along the side of Wilson's throat before biting down right above his clavicle.

The moan surprised Wilson, moreso when he realized it was coming from him and not House. His hands were being tugged up at an angle above his head on the armrest, and the usual tingling that would accompany that position was starting up; however alcohol strummed through the rest of his body enough that Wilson hardly noticed. His head slowly tilted back, the intention of showing more of his neck not at all lost on House, who was sucking a trail back up the opposite side of his throat.

When the man suddenly sunk teeth into the triangle of muscle between neck and shoulder, hard enough that Wilson imagined he could feel the bruise forming already, he yelped to the open air above him. "You can't be drunk enough to not notice that you're—" Wilson interrupted himself to grunt into a stubble-outlined mouth when House suddenly moved back up to kiss him. Granted, that word was probably too calm of one to apply to the force House was using in the action, and while Wilson was getting over the surprise of the sudden returned change in mood his hands were tugged back down to his sides. House kept his hold on them, however, and Wilson had the realization that it was just to give the diagnostician better leverage as he loomed over the shorter man. Wilson jerked up once again, which went as unregistered as before, and swore into the fronts of House's teeth. The beer (and a bit more than that) that he'd drunk earlier was finishing up its job of joining his system, and the added bravery of alcohol was enough to coax Wilson on.

Where the hell did House get off trying to boss him around while Wilson was going along with another one of his crazy schemes, anyway? Luckily, two legs made for better leverage than just one, and this time Wilson didn't bother jerking up – he'd never get over it if he accidentally toppled House into the coffee table or something, after all – and instead he shoved against the couch cushions and rolled over. It was less than successful, but in a tangle of teeth, hands and indignant grunts on House's end, Wilson had at least forced both of them on their sides, with House pinned between Wilson and the couch's back.

If Wilson hadn't known House for as long as he had, he would have thought his friend was momentarily happy with this new development, something like wary pleasure greeting Wilson's eyes as they stared down blue ones. Moments later House was wriggling a knee up in between them, however, no doubt to shove Wilson off the couch from the less-than-ideal position he'd gotten himself into, and the oncologist frowned in exasperation. "So you tackle me to the couch, and even _now_ you're trying to make things more difficult than they have to be?" Wilson rolled over to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, stretching a leg out to rest on the opposite side of House's waist once the man was underneath him.

"Just breaking the ice," House managed before Wilson took the initiative and shoved their mouths together. It took a few moments for the two men to adjust to the new dynamic, Wilson eventually tilting his head to the side so their noses didn't get in the way. If anything, House seemed to be enjoying the fact that Wilson was now the one on top, and Wilson's glassy eyes fixed on House's, the silent question of 'Was all that really necessary, you ass?' passing through the gaze. Brown eyes rolled in resigned frustration and blue eyes crinkled at the edges in a rare smile while the other's attention was diverted to his own annoyance.

Fingers wrapped around (horrendously printed) silk, and suddenly Wilson was aware of his tie being removed, falling harmlessly into the space between their chests as House's hands shifted up farther to his collar. Suddenly aware of how hot he was, Wilson shuffled up the other's body a bit more, as if to coax House into undoing the buttons; as if House needed the encouragement. Knuckles, a bit rougher than what Wilson had come to expect, brushed against his upper chest as he arched up to let House continue removing his shirt and he surprised himself when he inexplicably choked on the air. Wilson braced his hands against the couch cushions, trying to keep track of where his legs were, to not let himself lean on House's bad leg too much – and was rewarded for his efforts with a muffled but derisive snort. The diagnostician sucked his lip into his mouth, working teeth lightly across the inside and Wilson found he couldn't arch up anymore now that they were fairly attached.

If his libido hadn't been involved in his decisions before, it certainly was now, and Wilson was in full-on Good Lover mode as he managed to win his lower lip back from House and lean sideways to catch the man's earlobe in his mouth. The humming of blood in his ears was only increasing with his arousal, though Wilson was currently about as drunk as he was going to get – which wasn't a lot, but it was enough that when House suddenly let out something suspiciously like a strained moan from underneath him, that he didn't think it odd. House wanted a nice fuck? Well, fine; there was one thing that Wilson was good at that House hadn't gotten a sampling of yet.


End file.
